


East Fitton

by Kahvi



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Comedy, Humor, M/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-11 16:36:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2075268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahvi/pseuds/Kahvi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin has a job offer and possible girlfriend who's definitely a princess, so why is his life suddenly more complicated and stressful than ever? It could have something to do with the fact that his co-workers and boss have no idea he's gotten the offer, and that the company is likely to go bust without him, and is certainly not helped by sudden declarations of love from Arthur, unexpected side jobs from Carolyn, or the antics of the students in whose attic he's living. On top of which, there's something he's sure he should have remembered, but keeps slipping his mind... Can Martin untangle the mess that is suddenly his life in East Fitton?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A stand-alone follow-up to [Dulles](http://archiveofourown.org/works/426723).

Looking back, Martin's life had consisted of a series of adjustments. At first, there had been adjusting to the fact that nice things never happened to him. This had been the quickest and easiest adjustment overall, as it had become so evident so soon that it instantly became second nature. He liked to think of it as a useful thing; not for him the blind faith and lazy nonchalance of the privileged optimist which inevitably ended in tears and failure! Of course, for him, things tended to end in failure regardless, but at least Martin was prepared for it. At least he knew that the only way he was going to get anywhere at all, was by hard, back-breaking work and perseverence! That's how he had fought his way through school, tooth and nail; that's how he had gotten his pilot's licence... eventually. 

That had been the second adjustment; getting used to actually being an actual airline captain. _Genuinely_. Just being a pilot had been enough; getting to be a _captain_ had been an apple hung so high that he had never really contemplated reaching for it. Well, he'd never really been very good at climbing trees. And getting to be both, and having... not exactly friends; that was a word as difficult as the concept it embodied, but having people around that seemed to tolerate him well enough, getting to work and do the thing he loved, even if he couldn't make a living from it... that all made the nice things never happening a little less important. 

Of course, they still never did. That was a constant. A comfortable one. He might envy people like Douglas, who, in addition to having won the genetic lottery, seemed to have an uncanny knack for turning adversity to their advantage, but secretly, honestly... the idea of _being_ like that, not getting slapped in the face by the cold fish of life whenever he dared to stick his head above the water - something was fundamentally wrong with that metaphor, but he rather liked the sound of it - terrified him. 

Which, of course, went some way towards explaining why he found it so frustratingly difficult adjusting to nice things... _sometimes_ happening to him. Like job offers. Like women, possibly, _im_ possibly, liking him, and wanting to be around him. Like-

"Here's your coffee, Skip."

"Thank you, Arthur."

Ah. This was a more familiar feeling. Like lead, slowly settling at the bottom of his stomach. Of course, it went to show, didn't it, that nice things, when they finally started happening to Martin, would become problems.

* * *

"You've got to talk to him eventually, you know."

"I just did."

"In some other capacity than that of polite cheese-tray-accepter."

"It was hardly the whole tray." Carolyn had taken to squirreling away select pieces in addition to her usual Camembert-hoarding, as part of her campaign to gradually wean Herc off his ovo-vegetarianism. Adding a 'lacto', she had decided, would be a reasonable first step. 

"And that was hardly my main point. Though I grant you, I could do without having dietary restrictions imposed upon me due to Carolyn's dislike of those of her boyfriend." 

"Don't call him that within earshot of her."

"I don't. And you're getting better at avoiding questions, I must say."

Martin swallowed the automatic 'thank you' at the apparent compliment, downing it with a rather sweaty bit of brie when he realized its backhandedness. 

"I hesitate to ask..."

"Then don't."

"No, I think I'm going to. Watching you and Arthur wobbling around one another like badly put together IKEA furniture-"

"What; on wheels?" Martin was in no mood for Douglas's smug, overly elaborate similes. Between the interview, the job offer and everything else, he had barely had time to keep up with his _paying_ job, which meant that he'd have to survive on noodles and McDonalds ketchup packets the rest of the month if he wanted to make rent. The fact that the perfect solution to that problem was breathing down his neck was, maddeningly, not helping things. It just seemed to make him more punchy and irritable, and less able to sleep through the night. To top it all off, they'd only been flying short trips since Switzerland, which meant no hotel stays, no free food beyond the odd sweaty... he fingered the next piece he'd picked with suspicion... vaguely satisfying dairy produce. And now, they were heading back to Fitton, where he had a leaky futon under an equally leaky roof to look forward to. He grunted, resisting the urge to wipe his cheesy fingers on his uniform leg.

"What _happened_ between the two of you?" 

"Nothing," Martin muttered. "Absolutely nothing." 

"Nothing."

"That's right."

"A man tells you he's in love with you, and your reaction is to do nothing?" Martin did not like the look on Douglas's face _at all_. It was the sort of look one might expect to see on the face of a parent taking pains to communicate that while they are not angry, they're very disappointed. 

"Not _in_ love with me. He said he loved me. There's a difference."

"Ah."

"What do you mean 'ah'?" 

Whatever Douglas might have meant was lost when the cockpit door burst open in an unmistakably Carolyn-like manner. "Hello, good to see you, complicated word games, hilarious jokes, etc. - could we disperse with the pleasantries and skip to the point where I tell you what's going on?"

"What," Martin replied, as patiently as he could manage, " _is_ going on?" 

"I'm glad you asked! Martin - I've got a job for you."

Martin blinked. "Uh... all right. When? We're going to Aberdeen the day after tomorrow; did you want to-"

"No, no, _no_. Not a flight; a _proper_ job. The sort you get paid for."

"Oh. _Oh._ You... you want to hire..."

"A man with a van, yes. Or a Martin with a..." She considered her options. "A man with a van," she repeated, definitely. 

"All right. I suppose."

Douglas lazed into a smirk. "Am I to take it Herc has finally convinced you to let him move in with you?"

"By all means, no. It's Arthur."

The brie and mystery cheese nearly came right back up Martin's throat. "Who? I mean, what?"

"He's moving out." 

"Where to," Douglas asked, casually. 

"He didn't say. I expect we'll find out."

* * *

Somehow or other, they managed to unload their solitary, still-sleeping passenger - a nondescript German woman with equally nondescript business in Fitton. As Douglas put it, the only real business to be had in Fitton was nondescript. Being a Fitton business owner, Martin could hardly disagree. At least the disembarking and surrounding little routines kept them all working, and Martin's mind, conveniently, _not_ working. Final checks over and done with, he slipped out of the cockpit. It was getting late enough that the thought of his futon had started to become appealing, which was never a good sign, though undeniably practical. Really, the only way he could manage to get some half-decent sleep on it was to work himself to the point of exhaustion where he would happily sleep on the _floor_. Which he sometimes did. 

"Skip?"

Martin's shoulders slumped. He liked Arthur. He really did. But there was only so much chirpy optimism his brain could take; adding nervous infatuation on top was really pushing past the breaking point. "Yes?"

"You look really tired."

"Thanks for letting me know."

"No, I mean..." Arthur fidgeted. Until he'd met Arthur, Martin thought this was something only cartoon animals did in real life. Not that cartoon animals existed in real life. Good _grief_ , he was tired. 

"It's all right; I know you were only trying to help."

"Mum says I do that too much."

"She may be right."

"I just wanted to ask if mum told you about the thing."

"What thing?" Something had begun to nag at the back of Martin's mind. It had been poking at him all afternoon - quite possibly, it was a beginning migraine. 

Arthur looked at his feet. He'd been polishing his shoes again, which he tended to do when out of sorts. "The-" he waited a beat, then blurted the rest of the sentence out, all in one go, " _helpingmemoveoutbecauseI'mmovingout_." He breathed, then added, as an afterthought, "thing. That thing."

"Right! Yeah, she said." God, Martin should probably have some sort of opinion about that. Maybe some feelings too. There really wasn't any room for either! "Do..." He started, then reconsidered. "Are..." 

Arthur waited, attentively. 

"Is that a good thing," Martin managed. There. That was a reasonable question, wasn't it? Showing interest. Like an interested... co-worker. 

"I think so, yeah. About time, really."

"All packed?"

"Mostly, yeah." 

"Right. That's... that's..." Good, Martin told himself, the proper way to end that sentence is with the word _good_. He scratched his nose and looked at Arthur's shoes. At least now they were both looking in the same general direction. 

"Yeah, it's nice, isn't it?"

"Yes! Nice. Very nice."

"OK, I'll see you tomorrow then!" 

Martin blinked, just catching Arthur out of the corner of his eye, scarpering out like a human puppy. 

Tomorrow. There was something about tomorrow... Ah well. He'd remember. Tomorrow.

* * *

Martin rarely had to set an alarm in the morning - a good thing, as the one on his aged phone tended to work only when least convenient. The first students noisily heading for morning classes usually woke him around seven thirty, which left him a good half-hour's snoozing time before the hot water came back on. Unfortunately, he then had about ten minutes in which to run down the stairs, get in and out of the shower, brush his teeth, and run back upstairs before the students who were late for morning classes showed up, angrily banging at the door. The rare morning he had time to dry himself before rushing off were to be treasured, though quite often his only towel got lost in the wash and he had to make do with old t-shirts. He didn't always have an early flight, of course, but when he didn't, he _always_ had a job with the van. Well, that was the idea, anyway. Really, the only inconvenient thing about this system was that the last students usually noisily came home from partying around 6 AM.

Given all this, Martin was surprised to find himself waking to the sound of careful knocking at the door to what could be generously referred to as his room. "Uh," he said, a little taken aback at the fact that whomever it was had not simply burst in. There was no lock, and quite often people forgot that anyone was living up here. "Come in?"

A touseled head - the sort of touseled that only happens as a result of careful and meticulous planning - poked through. "Sorry," it said. 

"That's quite all right," Martin searched through the ever-changing roster of names and faces he'd been introduced to over the years and semesters. "...Cyril?" He ventured. 

"Cecil. Sorry."

"No, that's quite all right." They appeared to have reached a politeness impasse. Martin cleared his throat, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he was naked, in bed. He clutched at his duvet. "Um. Did you..."

"Yes! Sorry. It's just, some of the guys told me about you." He smiled, apologetically, and Martin sighed inwardly. 

"Not this again... Cyril - Cecil, I'm so sorry. This happens every term. Some of the guys get the idea that it'd be fun to play a joke on the new kid, so they make up this elaborate story about the crazy pilot in the attic, and find some pretext to send you up here to embarrass the both of us."

Cecil backed up, just barely avoiding banging his head on the door frame. Bloody hell, he was _tall_. "Oh! I'm so sorry," he squeaked. More or less; his voice was an almost Douglas-like smooth baritone. 

"No need to apologize."

"So that means... you're not for hire?" 

"What?" Martin sat up, momentarily forgetting the duvet, and scrambling to catch it again. 

"It's just..." Cecil looked oddly guilty, Martin thought. Was he blushing? "They told me you were for hire. You know for... erm... oh, forget it." He turned quickly, and Martin jumped out of bed. 

" _No!_ " Duvet in one hand, feverently wishing he'd slept in his underpants, Martin grabbed the door, keeping it open. Cecil stopped, and, it seemed, stopped breathing. Probably asmathic, Martin thought. "No! I am. I am! For hire," he explained, adjusting the duvet. It kept slipping in his grip. 

"That's good," Cecil breathed. He was staring, a bit. Strange, considering how polite he'd been earlier. 

"Sorry about the mix-up; I just wasn't expecting my... erm... flatmates sending business my way."

"So they're not customers, then?"

"Not really. I helped put up some shelves a few months ago, but other than that, no."

Cecil gave him an odd sort of look. "Well, they spoke very highly of you." 

"They did?" They weren't a bad lot, really, the students. A little loud, tended to leave both their own and everybody elses's milk out and never closed the windows properly in the cold months, and of course they never cleaned, but they weren't a bad bunch. Martin just hadn't expected, well... this. "That was really rather nice of them."

"So are you free?"

"You mean today?"

Cecil glanced over his shoulder. "I was thinking right now, actually." 

"What, _now?_ " 

"Yeah, that's why I came up here."

"Bit of a rush job?"

Cecil coughed. Definitely asthma. "I was hoping not!" 

"Well, It's a bit early now..." 

"Are you free tomorrow?"

"I'm afraid not; I'm flying to Aberdeen tomorrow."

"For a job?" The look on Cecil's face was understandably dubious. 

"Sort of. For my other job. I'm a pilot airline - I mean, an airline pilot. Captain. Captain Martin Crieff, pleased to meet you." He held out his hand, realizing too late that it was the one holding up the duvet, and hastily retreating it. 

"Gosh. A _pilot!_ " 

"Erm, yes."

"So this is just... sort of, on the side?" 

"It's not my main job, no. I'm a full-time pilot."

"That's impressive, I must say!" Cyril had gone back to staring, quite a bit more obviously. He wasn't an unattractive man, as men went, not that Martin would know, but there was rather a lot of him, and not in a friendly, Arthur-y sort of way. 

"Anyway, I'd be happy to help you out, but I do have another job today. Maybe I could fit you in later this afternoon? I start at 10, so-"

"At 10? Really?"

"Yes," Martin said, immediately uncertain. That's what Carolyn had said, wasn't it? "Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's 10 now, isn't it?"

He made it through the front door in less than seven minutes, which was his personal best since the fire drill.


	2. Chapter 2

"Please don't start apologizing," Carolyn greeted him, making frantic hand motions towards where she clearly intended for him to park the van. "I know that look on your face, which shouldn't be hanging out the window, by the way."

"Sorry," Martin said, before he could stop himself.

Carolyn rolled her eyes, made a few more emphatic gestures, and hurried back into the house. The space into which she expected Martin to manuever was a much tighter fit than he would normally have attempted to back into, squeezed between Carolyn's Prius and an mountain of boxes of varying sizes. There was no way they'd all fit in one go; they'd have to make at least two trips. Martin hugged the wheel as he waited; the idea of charging Carolyn extra made him feel unexpectedly uneasy. He jumped when Arthur suddenly knocked on the passenger-side window; and before he knew it, Arthur had opened the door and settled in opposite him. Martin gaped. 

"Hullo, Skip! Ready to go?"

"Hello Arthur..." he glanced past him, at the pile of boxes beyond. "We're not going to get all of that with us on the first go, I'm afraid."  
"All of what?" 

"All of your, um, things."

"Really? It's just one suitcase." Arthur held up the small, red travel case he'd thrown into the back. It was the same one he always took with him on layovers; a decent size for a week-long vacation, but hardly more. Martin didn't quite know how to respond. 

"Just one suitcase?"

"Yeah, I don't have that much stuff to take with me, really. The furniture is all mum's, and I don't have that much clothes because I wear my uniform most of the time anyway." 

"You don't really have a uniform."

"Yeah, but you know what I mean."

Martin really didn't, but knew better than to ask further. "Don't you have any books you want to bring?"

"I don't really read much. And Douglas says you can get apps on your phone for that now, anyway." 

"...CDs?" Martin found it hard to think of things people might have to put in their flats. It's been so long since he'd had the space in which to put things himself. 

"I've got an iPod." Arthur shifted in his chair. He seemed a little restless, but then again, when didn't he? "Come on, Skip! I'm ready to go, honest."

"What about all those boxes?"

"Oh, those are Herc's. Except I'm not supposed to tell you that."

 _Well_ , then! Martin almost considered texting Douglas. He found himself smiling as he turned the keys in the ignition. "You're absolutely sure there's nothing else you need to bring?"

"Positive."

"It's just..." Martin shut his mouth quickly. No point in bringing attention to the fact that they needn't have hired him. 

"What?"

"Nothing! Let's get a move on, shall we?" Martin laughed as naturally as he could manage while coaxing an aging van out of a difficult spot, and also not really wanting to laugh. 

"Where to?"

"East Fitton." 

"Oh yes? It's nice up there. Not terribly far." Oh shut _up_ , Martin, you _idiot!_

"I know, I can just never find my way anywhere I've not been, when I'm on my own. I've got this GPS thing on my phone, but it keeps telling me where I should be, and not where I am."

"They will do that." Martin's phone didn't have one. It was, however, buzzing right now in his pocket. He only had the vibrate on for e-mails - he had to keep the sound on for calls so he didn't miss them - and those were never important, so he tried to ignore it and relax. He couldn't read it while driving, anyway. He watched Arthur out of the corner of his eye, when road conditions allowed. He was in jeans, which was unusual, and a dark red cardigan over a pink shirt. And he was very quiet. Much too quiet, and Martin really did not want to think about why. Or whom. Oh god, maybe the e-mail was from Thereza? "Whereabouts in East Fitton," he squeaked, a little too loudly. 

"Up by Fitton University."

"That's barely two miles; you could have walked there!" 

"Not with my suitcase!" 

"It's got wheels!" Martin's phone buzzed again, at the exact moment he realized he was trying to argue his way out of a job. He inhaled deeply, desperately trying to recall that one time Caitlin made him come to her yoga class. 

"That's right! I keep forgetting. Anyway, we're here now, might as well enjoy the ride." 

Martin's phone buzzed again, and he closed his eyes. "Yes. Let's."

"Are you sure you don't need any help with that?" Martin eyed the little suitcase, which had never seemed sadder, despite its cheery hue. Arthur kept rolling it back and forth as he stood, the wheels spinning like an aging supermarket trolley; badly, and in completely opposite directions. 

"It's fine; I can manage." 

"Right." Despite himself, Martin was curious. Arthur had asked to be dropped off right outside the admissions building, on the edge of campus. FitU's buildings tried as best they could to look imposing, but beyond the little handful that they represented, there were no other houses in the immediate surroundings. "Not far to walk, then?"

"No, not at all." Arthur rolled the case faster, in as much as he could. His face was doing that thing where it desperately tried not to show emotion, and ended up in a confused sort of squint. Oh, all right. Time to be an adult. How Martin _hated_ having to be the adult. 

"Listen, Arthur..."

"Mum's calling," Arthur yipped, pulling out his phone and pressing it quickly to his ear. 

"Yeah? Right. OK. Ow. No. Sorry. Yes. OK. Sorry." He paused, handing it to Martin. "She wants to talk to you!"

With some reluctance, Martin took it. "I hope she realizes you're not my secretary. Hello," he added, into the speaker. 

_"Not interrupting your busy day, I hope?"_

"If you're asking whether I've finished the job you hired me to do-"

_"Don't get cute with me; I haven't the got the minutes to spare. Why have you stopped answering your e-mails?"_

"That was you? I was driving. Anyway, why didn't you phone me?"

_"I tried! Repeatedly, ad nauseaum, et cetera! Never mind all that; there's been a change of plans."_

Martin glanced at Arthur, who was still nervously trying to roll his suitcase, and not listen to the conversation at the same time, and failing to either. "What plans?"

_"Tomorrow's flight, of course! We'll be heading straight to Reykjavik from Aberdeen. We're picking up some passengers early the next morning, so you'll have to stay the night."_

"All right." _Proper beds!_ The muscles in Martin's back moaned in anticipation. 

_"Just make sure..."_ Her voice faded. _"That's funny. You know, I had the distinct impression there was something I needed to remind you of, but it's gone now. I'm sure it'll come back to me."_

"Anything else?" Martin groused, but Carolyn had already hung up. When Martin looked up, he found Arthur had disappeared too. Forgetting his phone. Sighing, he hopped back into the van, and started the ironically long drive to his own student lodgings. Cheap housing didn't come with convenient locations. 

He pointedly kept his own phone in his pocket.

* * *

"Had a nice time with Cecil, did you?" 

Martin, lost in the convoluted mental calculations of his budget, jumped at the sound of... god, which one was this again; Frank? Howard? Well, it had been nice of them to throw some business his way. Unusually nice, but having far too many things to worry about already, Martin chose to take it at face value. Howard, or Frank, was leaning against the flatshare's elderly refrigerator and smirking. Most of the people living here did, a lot of the time. It was probably some student thing Martin didn't understand. "Oh, yes. I mean, erm no. Not yet."

Frank (Howard?) pulled open the tab on a cheap can of beer, and Martin looked away. That yeasty sort of smell always made him hungry. "No hard feelings, eh? It was just a bit of fun."

That was an odd way of phrasing it, but then again, Martin could barely comprehend half of the things these kids said. "N... no. Not at all. I wanted to thank you, actually." 

Howard - yes, he did look more like a Howard - looked a little puzzled. Maybe he was already getting drunk? It was long into the afternoon, after all. "Really?"

"Yeah, business has been really slow lately. Even slower than usual, which is saying something."

"That's funny."

Was it? Perhaps 'funny' meant 'bad'. Although Howard was grinning, if a little uncertainly. "Well, it's not good. So I honestly do appreciate it! To tell you the truth, I didn't think any of you knew about my... erm... _side business_ \- oh, goodness! Are you all right?"

Beer spewed out of the sides of Howard's mouth like a contemporary art fountain. He coughed, backing away a little when Martin leaned foward to help. "Eeeeh," he wheezed. "You... you're actually _for rent?_ That's bare sick, man. We were just having a laugh!"

"Right," Martin said, feeling anything but. _Sick bears?_ "Is Cecil a friend of yours?" He added, hopefully. He realized it wasn't the best timing, but he couldn't afford to let a sales pitch opportunity pass him by. "Perhaps you or he might have other friends who might be in need of-"

Howard shook his head so hard that little beery suds flew, like the spittle of a rabid dog. "Nah! No, man. For real." And with that, he set the overflowing can down, wiped his wet hand on his thigh, and scrambled to one of the downstairs bedrooms. Possibly his own. Martin waited a moment, just in case something else confusing might happen, as it so often did, then began long, steady climb to the attic. 

It was several hours later when it finally occurred to Martin to check his phone. Carolyn's failing to get a hold of him was disconcerting; Martin's phone was his only means for connecting with the outside world, and it was just barely working as it was. The screen had been wonky for months and now, clearly, the alarms had stopped functioning properly. Between this and the lack of a wake-up call this morning, he might actually have to consider taking his mum up on the offer of getting him a new one. He had made it a point not to rely on handouts, but a working phone was different. It was _critical_. 

With some amount of dread, he pulled it out of his pocket, squinting at the icons on the screen. It was a little hard to tell, but they were definitely all e-mails, and lost calls from Carolyn's number. No telling who the e-mails might be from, not unless he opened them. Well. No use postponing any further. Martin clicked with his thumb and half-shut his eyes, opening each missive, cautiously, one at a time. 

Oh. 

Some spam, the bi-weekly MJN newsletter, and one from... Cecil. The guys must have given him Martin's e-mail address. How thoughtful! Martin tried to navigate to the message, but the phone's worn buttons reacted sluggishly. Just as he'd highlighted it, his thumb slipped and hit 'delete'. 

"Bloody perfect." That rather sweet kid had been very eager; there might be more than one job there, potentially! Oh well, he'd probably call. Probably. The idea of asking Howard for Cecil's number was not terribly appealing, so Martin cut his losses for now and went back to crunching the numbers on his budget on thin, slightly crusty wax paper he'd stolen from the communal kitchen. There were rather more zeroes than he'd hoped for, and not nearly enough numbers to go in front of them. 

When the doorbell rang, Martin thought it was his phone for a moment, and was flooded in relief that the sound still worked. Realizing it was in his pocket and not buzzing, however, he waited his usual fifteen minutes for someone else to go get it. When no one did, and whomever was there refused to give up and go away, he reluctantly dragged himself back down the stairs, and tore the door open dramatically. "Yes," he snapped, a little harshly.   
The first thing he noticed was that it was raining outside, quite hard. The second thing he noticed was that he knew both the man and the suitcase on the step in front of him. 

"Sorry," Arthur offered.


End file.
